Waiting
by mrstserc
Summary: A tag to episode 8.19. The Winchesters return to the MoL Bunker after a bad week. The rating is for some language...from Dean, of course. This is just a drabble about brotherly concern after Taxi Driver. I do not own any rights to Supernatural or these characters.


As Sam staggers down the last set of steps into the MoL's basement, the younger Winchester is amazed again by how big their new home is, especially when, like today, he has to wander all over it in an effort to locate his brother. Oh, he's tried to get Dean to use one of the old fashioned walkie-talkies, but then he'd tried calling and heard himself on the handset left across the room. No, Dean is purposely out of touch.

Dean has been too quiet, too withdrawn, too…well, just wrong, since they got back from Maine, since Benny stayed in Purgatory, since they felt like they needed to regroup before finding Kevin. And before that, Dean was already closed-mouthed about what happened with Castiel before he took off for parts unknown with the angel tablet. Okay, so Sam is used to his brother being shut off emotionally, hiding how he feels about things with all the stealth and finesse of, he stops his mental rant to cough and try to catch his breath, of, of, some clumsy animal or a ten-year-old kid. While they are playing the waiting game, it's just one more thing to obsess over.

Pausing, Sam hears a muffled pounding and music further down the hall. He hasn't spent much time down here, but during these months in Lebanon, Kansas, while he has been researching, his hyperactive brother has been cleaning out, inventorying, and sorting through rooms. He has consolidated items and incorporated everything he could scavenge from Dad's storage room in Black Rock, Bobby's stuff, and whatever Rufus had that was usable, as well as recovering things from the Campbell compound. He has also set up an eBay account and has sold some of the mundane items and outdated technology, raising enough money to keep them going for a while. Boxes of books are stacked around the library waiting for Sam's attention because Dean doesn't want to mess up the system Sam has put in place, he said. Sam suspects that the card catalogue just sounds too boring to his big brother.

Seeing the massive amounts of organizing and labeling his brother has accomplished, Sam feels a pang of envy. Maybe Dean would be better at it than him, not as inclined to get lost in reading the books. Even the doors of the rooms he passes are painted according to a color-coded system. Way to make me look like a slacker, Dean, Sam thinks. Dean used to bring boxes up to spend time at least near each other, not since they got back though. He just disappears, and, damnit, Sam's worried. He peeks into one last door, amazed to see it has been turned into a small dojo with matted floors and two heavy weight free-standing punching bags. Dean is attaching mirrored panels on the side wall of a room that's bigger than the size of a double garage.

"Dean?" Sam calls out before settling on a bench inside the door, obviously set up to make it convenient to take off your shoes before working out. Sam thinks about it. It has actually been awhile since he trained, and he guesses it has been for Dean too. "Hey, Dean." Sam's louder this time, and his brother whirls towards him.

With a quirked grin, Dean answers. "Ruined my surprise, Sam. What'd'ya think?" He reaches over to turn off Zeppelin on an old CD player he'd had blasting. "I thought it might help to have someplace to go through forms, maybe spar when you're feeling up to it. Huh, Sammy?" Sam notices that the furrow in Dean's brow is deep, meaning he's actually worried about what Sam will think.

"I think it's a great idea, Dean. And, wow, you've really got this place organized." No sooner does Sam say this than he realizes it sounds condescending, so he's not surprised to see his brother's eyes narrow at him. Sam has been feeling so drained, especially since the second trial. As he looks at the deep concern in his brother's face, he tells himself again that he will make it through this. He made that promise to Dean – a future for both of them.

Dean's face flushes, and he shakes his head. "Yeah, well, getting older, you know. Can't afford to get slow, too." He stands up and stretches, his back and knees pop and crackle. "Damn. Really am getting old." He grimaces and bends down again to collect up his tools and put them back into their holsters on his tool belt.

Sam gives him a half smile – his big brother as Bob the Builder – keeping the thought inside because he doesn't want to make Dean think he's making fun of him. To Sam, it's just more proof that Dean could live a normal life. Besides Dean's handyman skills have really come in handy in helping make this place more livable. Before he can voice any of this, Sam's stomach gives a loud rumble, and Dean huffs out a laugh.

"Did you come looking for me because you're hungry, little brother?"

It's Sam's turn to huff. "I'm old enough to know how to take care of myself, Dean. I came to say I made lunch and to see if you're going to eat. You've been skipping too many meals lately." Sam spears Dean with his own worried look. "You're losing too much weight."

"Says the guy who's starting to look like Skeletor," Dean's trying to keep it light, but his voice cracks and he doesn't duck his head in time to hide the sorrow in his eyes. He sweeps his arm, ushering Sam toward the door, and they both head for the stairs.

"I'm fine, Dean."

"That's a load of bull and you know it. You promised no more lies, Sam." Dean's voice is heavy and laced with hurt as he trudges up the steps behind his brother. The "I'm fine" response is the most common lie the brothers tell each other. It honestly is less of an answer than a non-answer. They both use it as a shield against intrusion into privacy because that's a commodity that's difficult to find when you live and work with your brother. For the most part, Dean respects that. He's every bit as guilty of using it, but it doesn't work in the middle of these trials – not as far as he is concerned. Besides, it's not the same in his opinion. Not even a little bit.

Sam's has BLT sandwiches and tomato soup ready. He pulls Dean's chair out, overacting his part as maître de, earning a frown from his brother who knows Sam is avoiding giving him a genuine answer. "Dinner is served." Sam is determined to lighten the mood, and he's doing his best to show that he's actually doing okay – not great, but not planning to die right now. The effect is ruined before he even sits down when he starts coughing so hard he has to double over and hold onto the chair to keep from falling.

Dean thumps him solidly a couple times on his back, holding his shoulder to steady him with the other. "Any more of your fineness you want to talk about?" Dean growls the question, helping Sam to his seat.

"Tell you what, Dean, you actually eat that sandwich, and I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Not…" Sam pauses for emphasis, "…that you're being any more honest than I am. But I just want to see you actually eat because you've been pining around here since Cas left, and now with Benny gone you're like a …"

Dean's eyes flash as he interrupts. "Shut up, Sam. Just. Shut. Thefuck. Up. I am not talking about feelings being hurt here. Not playing fucking Doctor Phil with you. I'm talking about your deteriorating physical health, which in case you forgot, affects me too as your partner. I'm not just asking how you're doing because I'm your awesome big brother. We…" he gestures angrily between them, "…work together."

Sam glares at Dean and takes a large bite of his sandwich, gesturing at Dean to do the same and chewing aggressively.

Dean actually growls before picking up his sandwich and biting it like he wishes it were something he could kill. Unlike his brother, Dean then forces the food to one side and starts to talk with his mouth full. Sam sees him readying to speak and takes another mouthful, holding up his finger to stop his brother and as a reminder he'd said he'd talk after Dean ate. It becomes a battle then to see who can finish first, and Sam wishes he had thought of that sooner as a way to get his brother to eat. Once his sandwich is devoured, Dean picks up the bowl and gulps down the soup.

"Now, Sam." Dean's abandoned questions in lieu of insisting. He sits at the Formica and chrome 1950's style dinette set in the bunker's kitchen demanding his brother come clean. Dean is worried these trials are killing his brother, and he knows that will kill _him_ too. Damnit, he knew he should have insisted on finding another Hell-hound.

Sam shakes his head and rolls his eyes, fondly thinking that some part of Dean will always be a five-year-old. "I've been better. The coughing is worse, there's more blood. I'm tired all the time, but I can do this, Dean. If I can go through Purgatory and Hell, I figure I can handle anything else that comes my way."

"That's another thing," Dean says without any segue. "Purgatory. How'd you do it by yourself when you're, well, you know, not yourself?"

Sam nods, and eats another spoonful of soup. "It was hairy enough on the way to the Hell portal, but I didn't have far to go. Ajay had given me really good directions there and to the section of Hell where they had Bobby stashed." He thinks about it, reliving the memory – a rogue Reaper, weird thought. "I'm really glad Bobby was by my side on the way back. Still, though, I might not have made it without Benny…probably wouldn't have." He tries to catch his brother's eye, but Dean's gaze darts away. "I know I was wrong, you know, Dean. I know that whatever else he was, Benny was a true friend to you."

Dean's head stays down, unresponsive. Sam waits a couple beats but doesn't push. Dean fulfilled his obligation in their deal by eating his sandwich, and, judging from the sick look on his face, he's fighting to keep it down. Sam sighs. "Hell was … well, it was an outer circle, you know. It wasn't anything like, like, the Cage." Sam shudders. "Nothing like you described either." Sam starts coughing again, and now he feels like _he_ might puke.

"Nap time, Sammy!" Dean sings out, like Sam is the overgrown preschooler. The big brother levers his larger little brother up with a shoulder under his arm and starts walking him to the bedroom wing. Sam tries to shake his off, but starts coughing again. "Get off me." Sam grumbles.

Dean jostles him all the way down the corridor to Sam's room, and with a twist and a nudge before he lets go, Sam finds himself sitting on the edge of his own bed, too winded to do much more than glare bitch-faced at his brother. In an overly cheerful voice, Dean tells him to lie down. "Just rest, Sam. None of these books will run off before you get some sleep." Dean moves a stack of dusty books from next to the lamp, looks around and puts them next to a pile by the chair. He shakes out a throw blanket from the end of the bed and covers Sam's shoulders.

"Do I get a kiss," Sam grumbles, joking because his brother is treating him like a baby, but he really doesn't feel well, and sometimes it's nice to just let his brother fuss over him. Sam's really surprised when Dean's hand brushes his hair off his forehead and the big badass himself ghosts his lips there. Sam closes his eyes.

"Hey, I'm heading out for some supplies and stuff to build a carport. I'll wake you when I get back. 'Kay, Sammy?" Dean's voice is low as he turns out the light.

"You going to be back soon, right Dean?" Sam doesn't want to wake up and find himself stranded outside the tiny town that's the geographical center of the U.S. But he also realizes that Dean has to head out to surrounding cities for supplies or draw attention to the secret lair. "I mean, you're not going to hare off in search of Kevin or anything are you?"

Dean pauses at the door. Abandonment issues from his brother? That's usually his problem, not Sam's. "Nah, man, I'll be back with dinner. I promise. I won't go too far or hop any time travel portals. Hey, don't worry. Just sleep." He closes the door partway, then cracks it back open. "You need anything?"

Sam smiles. "Just you big brother." He punctuates that with a yawn. "Just you."


End file.
